I'm Not Me When I'm You
by Collegekid2006
Summary: Shawn and Lassie have to trade identities.
1. Chapter 1

Shawn watched her enter the precinct, his eyebrow instantly arching in interest. She walked with a determined, purposeful stride across the station, her dark green blazer a stark contrast to her pure white blouse and brown hair. She strode right up to Buzz, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," she smiled confidently when he turned around. "I'm looking for Detective Lassiter."

Buzz nodded. "Well, that's his desk," he told her, pointing at the vacant seat. "I'm not sure where he is. If you want to wait for him to get back…"

"Thanks," she smiled, pulling up a chair.

_She's definitely a reporter…_ Shawn realized, watching her pull out a small spiral notebook and a pencil.

_Probably doing a story on Lassie…_

An evil grin lit up his face as he remembered the incident a few months back when Lassiter had hi-jacked his own reporter after Shawn had single-handedly saved the city from an exploding bomb.

Of course, he had activated it first… and he hadn't actually diffused it himself…but who was counting?

The point was, Lassiter took credit for it…and now it was time for revenge.

Shawn grinned, but quickly let it fade from his face as he walked up to the reporter, assuming the gruff air of a seasoned detective.

"What the hell do you want?" he snapped, much like he imagined Lassiter would in his position. The reporter looked up at him, surprised.

"Are you Detective Lassiter?" she asked.

"Well, I'm sure as hell not a psychic," Shawn scowled, grabbing the gray suit jacket Lassiter had left draped over his chair and putting it on. He hoped the reporter didn't notice that it was way too long and that it looked odd with the blue t-shirt and jeans he was wearing. "Who are you?"

"I'm Nancy Jayne," she answered, extending her hand in a friendly greeting. "I'm the reporter from the _Sun_. I'm here to follow you around for a few days, get an inside look at the SBPD."

"Oh, right," Shawn grunted, snatching a file off the corner of the desk and pretending to look through it. "I forgot you were coming today."

"That's okay," she smiled, withdrawing her hand when Shawn didn't accept it. "Do you mind if I ask you some questions before we get started?"

"Go ahead."

"Okay…" She opened her notebook and took the pencil out from behind her ear, flipping through the pages until she found the right one. "First, what made you want to become a detective?"

Shawn leaned back in his chair, his face softening as he pretended to contemplate the matter deeply. "I've always had a deeply-embedded love of handcuffs."

She looked surprised, hesitating before she wrote down the response. "A _what?_"

"A deeply-embedded love of handcuffs," he repeated, actually allowing himself to grin this time. "And you can quote me on that."

"Okay…" she shrugged, jotting it down. "Anything else?"

"I like to yell at people," he continued, his grin growing by the moment. "And I have the most extensive collection of antique wooden spoons on the West Coast. Plus, I love musical theater. I sing _Oklahoma_in the shower."

Her face remained placid and completely professional as she continued to scribe every word he spoke, but Shawn knew she was laughing on the inside.

How could she not be?

Shawn opened his mouth to add something else, but at that moment Lassiter walked into the station. He saw Shawn sitting in his desk, and immediately began to storm over to them. Shawn quickly stood up.

"Uh…Excuse me one moment," he mumbled, already going to head-off the clearly fuming detective before he reached the reporter and blew his cover. "Duty calls…"

He reached Lassiter in about four strides.

"Spencer!" Lassiter snapped, glaring at his jacket the psychic was wearing. "What the hell are you doing? Why are you at _my_ desk wearing _my_ jacket?"

"Nothing," Shawn grinned innocently, jamming his hands into the pockets. "I just thought you might want your jacket warmed up for you…besides, it fits so nice. It's like a giant, poly-cotton blend Lassie-Hug."

Lassiter's eyes narrowed, and Shawn knew he didn't believe a word of it. "Spencer…" he growled threateningly.

"Excuse me, Detective Lassiter?" Nancy interrupted them, looking at Shawn as she approached cautiously. "I don't have a lot of time today. Do you think we could start the ride along soon?"

"Lassiter?" Lassiter growled, glaring at the psychic. "Why the hell did you just call him-?"

"Uh…" Shawn stammered, but never had a chance to come up with a witty excuse, because Nancy turned to Lassiter next.

"Oh, I found him, Chief Vick. Thanks for your help outside."

Shawn turned to the now scarlet-faced Lassiter, his eyes flashing as his lip curled up into a victorious grin.

"Chief Vick?" he laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Dude. Seriously?"

Lassiter grabbed his arm and dragged him a few feet away, turning them so their backs were to Nancy.

"Look," he growled quietly, glancing back at the reporter. "I met her outside. I knew she was a reporter. I have five cases to close, and I don't have time to babysit the damn press! The Chief thought it'd be good publicity…but I don't give a damn. I'm not doing it! But she was outside looking for me, anyway…I didn't know what else to do…"

"So you told her you were a woman?" Shawn laughed, enjoying the situation immeasurably.

"No!" Lassiter snapped. "She doesn't know Chief Vick is a woman! I just…gave myself a little well-deserved promotion."

"Yeah…" Shawn snorted, rolling his eyes. "A promotion to Woman!"

"I'm not a woman!" Lassiter shouted, then instantly lowered his voice when at least five people stopped working and looked over at them. He grabbed Shawn's shoulder again and dragged him another five steps away from the reporter.

"You told her you were me!" he accused, glaring. "You impersonated an officer, Spencer! I could arrest you right now!"

"Then you'd have to explain to the Chief about your little promotion," Shawn pointed out, grinning broadly. "And you'd have to tell her you pretended to be her because you were trying to get out of following an order. Face it, Lassie. You're stuck. As far as that reporter knows, I'm Detective Carlton Lassiter. So I'm going to finish my interview. Come on, Lassie! It'll be fun!"

He pushed past Lassiter and headed back to Nancy, who was watching them, looking apprehensive.

"Is everything okay?" she asked. "What's going on?"

Shawn sighed, shaking his head sadly from side to side as Lassiter came up beside him, still glaring at him. "Okay…you caught us," he admitted, as if it were a painful admission. "He's not really Chief Vick."

"I didn't think so," Nancy nodded, appraising them both.

"He's Shawn Spencer!" Shawn added happily, clapping Lassiter on the back. "The great psychic detective."

"Really?" Nancy looked impressed, pulling her notebook out again. "You're a psychic?"

Lassiter scowled, but one look at Shawn and he knew he was trapped.

There was no way in hell he was telling the Chief he ignored her order.

There was no way in hell he was going to admit to a reporter that he allowed a psychic to run amuck in his precinct, impersonating officers on a whim.

"No," he muttered bitterly, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'm just a giant pain in the ass."


	2. Chapter 2

"So," Nancy asked, glancing down at her watch. "I just have to check in with my editor real quick. Then we can go for the ride-along."

She pulled out her cell phone and started scanning the station for a private spot to make her call. "I'll be right back," she added over her shoulder, glancing at Shawn. "You can tell me more about your…uh…antique wooden spoon collection."

As soon as she was gone, Lassiter glared at him. "Antique wooden spoon collection?" he growled, his eyes narrowing bitterly.

"Sure," Shawn shrugged, adjusting Lassiter's too-large jacket around his frame. "You also have an odd obsession with handcuffs. I was thinking about giving you a facial tick, too. What do you think of this?"

He rapidly jerked his head towards his shoulder several times, crossing his eyes as they bulged out in a truly insane-looking manner.

"Spencer…" Lassiter warned him, his voice dangerously quiet. "Just because I don't want to waste my day babysitting the damn press doesn't mean you get to make me look like a jackass!"

"Fine…" Shawn agreed, grinning as he extended his hand expectantly. "I won't make you look like a jackass. You'll be the best cop Santa Barbara ever saw…I can pull off fiction. But an operation this delicate will require the use your car for the ride-along. I don't think she'll buy that I'm a motorcycle cop."

"You're not using my car, Spencer!"

"Well, I have to use _something_," Shawn told him, rolling his eyes impatiently. "Unless we should ask the Chief what she thinks about this…"

Lassiter scowled, once again beaten. "Fine…" he groaned, pulling his keys out of his pocket. "We can use my car."

"'We?'" Shawn snorted, reaching for them. "Who invited _you_? You're just the pain-in-the-ass psychic, remember?"

"Yeah, well," Lassiter muttered bitterly as he pulled the keys out of Shawn's reach, somehow trapped into doing the one thing he had been trying to avoid all day. "This pain-in-the-ass psychic is driving. So, you'd better come up with something to tell the reporter, Spencer. Because there is no way in hell I am letting you behind the wheel of my car! You're lucky I haven't had your license revoked!"

"Lassie," Shawn laughed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Licenses are like side mirrors…you don't really _need_ them to drive…and no one ever uses them, anyway."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "And _that's_ why _I'm_ doing the driving, Spencer."

Nancy came back from her phone call at that moment, smiling and waving at them as she crossed the precinct. "I'm ready," she told Shawn. "Which way to your car, Detective Lassiter?"

Shawn glanced at Lassiter, who just grunted and crossed his arms.

"Uh…it's out front," Shawn told her, gently guiding her towards the precinct door. "In fact, Spencer here just got it washed and waxed. Right, Spencer?"

Lassiter didn't respond. He just remained standing perfectly still in the middle of the precinct, glaring as the two of them walked away.

"Uh…he narcoleptic," Shawn explained as they reached the door and stepped outside. "Did I ever tell you about the time I got beat up by a girl…?"

* * *

They waited by Lassiter's car for five minutes before the real Lassiter finally showed up.

"Why aren't we going?" Nancy had asked Shawn, sounding mildly irritated as she checked her watch again.

"We're waiting for Spencer." Shawn growled, scowling just like Lassiter. "Damn idiot took my keys when he got her washed and waxed and locked me out."

She had opened her mouth to respond, but before she could Lassiter had appeared at the other end of the parking lot.

For a stunned, silent moment, Nancy and Shawn just stared at him as he crossed the parking lot.

He was still wearing his gray slacks and white dress shirt, but the tie had been removed and he had slipped a green plaid shirt over his dress shirt, letting it hang open to give himself the layered look just like Shawn usually did. His hands were jammed casually into his pockets and as he approached them, he slouched like a slacker surfer-boy.

"You…changed…" Nancy mumbled when he finally reached them, at a loss for what to say to the ridiculous outfit.

For a moment, Shawn was grateful that Lassiter's suit jacket didn't clash quite so much with his jeans and sneakers.

Lassiter just shrugged, obviously trying to appear nonchalant and carefree like a psychic detective. "What can I say?" he drawled, his eyes flashing victoriously at Shawn. "I'm just a marginally-employed slack-ass who's too cool to wear just one layer of clothes. They make me wear the stuffy white shirt crap in the station….but out here, I can wear layers to show everyone what a free-spirit I am. Everyone knows that cool free-spirits wear plaid."

"Oh…kay…" the reporter blinked, completely baffled.

Shawn was still dumbstruck by the sight of Lassiter in the shirt he had accidentally left at the station a few weeks ago after it got wet during a particularly rousing game of Bathroom Sink Water Polo.

Finally, he scowled. "Spencer! We don't need a fashion commentary! Just unlock the car so we can get going!"

Lassiter opened the back door, holding it for Nancy, who quickly got in and buckled up.

After he shut the door, Shawn burst out laughing. "Dude! Cool people totally wear plaid!"

Lassiter grunted, crossing around the front of the car to the driver's seat. "If you're going to make me look like a spoon-collecting jackass who gets beat up by girls, Spencer, I can do the same to you."


	3. Chapter 3

"So…you're really a psychic?" Nancy asked, leaning across the seat, watching Lassiter's face as he concentrated on the road ahead.

Lassiter stiffened almost imperceptibly, glancing at Shawn out of the corner of his eye. Shawn returned his knowing look, both of them knowing Lassiter would rather walk barefoot through a sea of broken glass than say anything that implied Shawn Spencer was actually a psychic.

"Yeah, Spencer," Shawn growled, barely able to contain his laughter enough to sound passably gruff and hostile. "You're really a psychic, aren't you?"

Lassiter's eyebrows shot up momentarily as he tried desperately to think of a way out of this. "That's what my business card says," he shrugged finally. "Of course, any jackass can get a business card that says anything."

"Aww…Spencer," Shawn grinned, giving the detective a good-natured clap on the back. "You're just being modest." He turned to the reporter, his face and tone completely deadpan. "Shawn Spencer is the single best psychic detective I've ever met in my entire life. And you can quote me on that. Just make sure you spell my name right. Lassiter. L-a-s-s-i-t-e-r. Or, you can just call me 'Lassie'," he added with a wink at Lassiter.

Lassiter scowled at him, but Shawn was having way too much fun with the ruse to give up now.

How often did he get to put words in the head detective's mouth?

"That's Lassie with an i-e, by the way," he continued. "Just like the dog. Or a girl."

Nancy sat back in her seat, quickly writing all of this down in her pad. "Lassie? Right. Got it. I-e."

Shawn's eyes flashed victoriously at the detective, but Lassiter wasn't about to let the affront go unanswered.

"Gosh…I don't know about the _best_, Detective Lassiter," he countered, trying to sound innocently contrite, but missing by several cynical octaves. "Most of the time, I'm just a pain in the ass who gets in the way and just makes a lot of noise. I don't know a damn thing about _real_ police work. Hell, I've interfered in so many investigations I didn't belong in, I should be in jail. Or dead."

"Dead seems kind of harsh," Shawn blinked, delicately dusting off the lapel of Lassiter's jacket, which was suddenly feeling eerily comfortable on him.

Lassiter mockingly mirrored the gesture, running his knuckles over the breast pocket of Shawn's plaid shirt. "Oh…" he intoned flatly. "Dead sounds about right to me."

"But don't your visions help solve cases for the SBPD?" Nancy asked.

"Yeah, Spencer?" Shawn grinned, elbowing Lassiter. "Don't your visions help solve cases for the SBPD?"

Lassiter shrugged. "I get lucky sometimes…"

"Luck?" Shawn snorted. "You call a perfect thousand batting average _luck_? Seriously?"

"That can't be luck!" Nancy agreed. "How does your psychic gift work? Do you get visions of the killer?"  
"Mostly, I just jump around like an idiot and make obscure pop-culture references no one with an actual life would ever get or even care about," Lassiter shot back.

"Those references are awesome and you know it!" Shawn insisted defensively. "And anyone who was cognizant during the eighties would totally get them!"

"What do eighties references have to do with crime?" Nancy asked.

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Believe me…if you heard them…they're crimes."


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh, pull over here!" Shawn ordered suddenly, tugging on Lassiter's arm with one hand and pointing at a Starbucks across the street with the other.

"No!" Lassiter returned, glaring at him, not about to take a directive from a fake cop.

"Spencer…" Shawn growled threateningly, barely able to contain his laughter. "Who's the head detective here? You or me?"

"_You_ are." Lassiter growled through clenched teeth, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

"Then pull over!" Shawn intoned sternly. Lassiter grunted obstinately and rolled his eyes, but pulled the car over and parked in front of the coffee shop, shooting Shawn a scowl that spoke volumes about the pain that would be inflicted later for that one.

"Why are we stopping here?" Nancy asked, looking around curiously at the quiet street. "Is it a crime scene?"

"No," Shawn grinned, already getting out of the car. "But they have a raspberry-chocolate scone that's to die for!" He poked his head back into the car, grinning at Lassiter as he shut the door. "Aren't you coming, Spencer? Psychics eat scones, too, don't they?"

"Actually, a scone sounds good," Nancy agreed, jumping out of the backseat. "And I never had my coffee this morning."

"Sometimes, I like to flash my badge at the people who work at Starbucks." Shawn told her as they walked towards the coffee shop. "I like to see the fear in their eyes. And they give you free stuff!"

"Isn't that considered accepting a bribe?" Nancy asked.

"The jury's still out on that one…" Shawn shrugged. "But I'm not allowed to discuss pending charges."

Lassiter was out of the car now, too. He caught up with Shawn in three quick strides, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him back to the curb. Nancy went into Starbucks, completely oblivious to the fact that she was alone now.

"Pending charges?" he growled angrily. "Spencer! I've never accepted a bribe!"

"Really?" Shawn snorted in disbelief. "What do you call that donut I gave you last week?"

"Donuts aren't bribes!" Lassiter shouted, his grip on Shawn's collar tightening. "And it was _my_ donut, anyway! I just caught you trying to abscond with it!"

"Well, now you're just making up words!" Shawn laughed. "Abscond? Seriously? That doesn't even sound real."

"Spencer!"

Shawn shook his hand off, gently dusting off the lapel of Lassiter's jacket. "Watch it," he warned. "This is an Italian suit."

"It's not Italian!" Lassiter shouted. "I think I know the suit's ethnicity! I'm the one who bought it!"

"Oh, yeah?" Shawn shot back. "If it's not Italian, how come all the psychic vibes I'm getting from it involve some guy named Mario?"

He raised a single eyebrow, as if in dawning realization. "Lassie!" he gushed, knowing even as he spoke the words that he was pressing his luck. "Is there something you want to tell me? Do you have a special someone?"

"Spencer!" Lassiter snarled, his fists curling and his face pulsing with alternating shades of red and purple.

"Oh…" Shawn nodded with sage understanding, completely unaffected by the detective's ire. "Are _you_ Mario? Does 'Mario' have a cape?"

Lassiter's eyes had narrowed into slits so small Shawn could barely tell they were even open. He grabbed Shawn by the collar again, twisting it around his fingers as he pulled the psychic close, on the verge of pummeling him right then and there. "You know when this is over, I'm killing you, right?" he growled, looming over him with as intimidating an air as he could muster in the ridiculous plaid shirt he was wearing. "And I'm a cop, Spencer. I won't serve a day in jail."

Shawn deftly pulled away from Lassiter's claw-like grip and stepped back. "So…basically, I'm dead no matter what I do at this point?" he concluded.

Lassiter nodded firmly. "Oh, yeah."

Shawn just shrugged, clapping Lassie on the back and heading inside, not appearing the least bit concerned by the detective's ire. "Then I guess I'd better live it up while I can."


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Lassiter entered the Starbucks, Shawn had joined Nancy in the coffee line.

"Oh, yeah," he was saying as Lassiter approached. "He has visions all the time." He turned to the detective, grinning like a kid in a candy store…which, Lassiter couldn't help but remember, apparently weren't as fun to work in as they were rumored to be.

"Really?" Nancy looked impressed, her large, brown eyes meeting his. "Can you show me how it works?"

"What?" Lassiter growled, glaring at Shawn.

"You know..." Nancy shrugged, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Show me how it works…the whole psychic thing. Could you have a vision right now?"

"Yeah, Spencer," Shawn agreed. "Show her how it works. Have a psychic vision right now!"

Lassiter scowled, flipping the collar of his plaid shirt up. "What the hell do you want me to do?" he snapped. "I don't carry a crystal ball."

Nancy laughed, apparently mistaking his dangerously vitriolic tone with sardonic wit. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to denigrate your gift. I'm just curious. Couldn't you show me how it works?" She nodded at the short, blonde woman behind the counter, who was busy waiting on the person at the front of the line, at least ten people ahead of them. "Could you read something about the barista? Something only a psychic would know?"  
Lassiter rolled his eyes, about to tell her to go jump in a lake, when he caught a glimpse of Shawn out of the corner of his eyes. The fake head detective had a smug grin plastered across his face, his arms folded jauntily across his chest.

He was so damn smug…

A sneer slowly crept across Lassiter's face.

If Spencer was taking him down, he wasn't going down without a fight.

"Sure, I can show you how it works," he told her, suddenly adopting the casual, Devil-may-care demeanor of a psychic detective who wouldn't know an honest day of work it kicked him in the pants.

He spun on his heel and started to march to the front of the coffee shop, pushing through the line of angry caffeine addicts. "Coming through!" he declared loudly, his voice dripping with sarcastic disdain. "I'm a psychic detective! I don't have to wait in line! Rules don't apply to me!"

Nancy shot Shawn a curious look.

Shawn just shrugged back. "Sometimes he channels A-holes…" he explained, quickly following Lassiter to the counter.

Nancy was just a step behind.

Lassiter leaned against the counter, ignoring the furious line behind him. He flashed the confused, harried barista what he imagined was a winning smile. "I'm not as good at picking women up as I think I am," he told her. "But that's not going to stop me from using every lame line in the book. I desperate for attention. Of course, once I find a line that works, I'll probably never call again."

"Now, Spencer," Shawn countered. "That's not true. You always call."

"Oh, Gosh, Detective Lassiter…" Lassiter returned with faux-sincerity so thick with irony Shawn couldn't believe no one else was picking up on it. "I guess you're right. I always call back…they just don't take my calls. And the women who do go out with me again eventually try to kill me."

"That's only happened a few times!" Shawn protested.

"A few times?" Nancy repeated, raising an eyebrow at Lassiter. "Women have really tried to kill you?"  
"What can I say?" Lassiter shrugged. "Some women would rather spend the rest of their lives in jail then go out with me."

"Okay…" she shook her head slowly, not even trying to analyze that one. "But what does any of that have to do with a psychic vision?"

"Psychic vision?" the barista repeated, finally speaking up. She glanced nervously back and forth between the three of them, completely baffled by the exchange.

"Yeah," Nancy nodded, turning back to her. "He's a psychic. I was asking him to read your aura. Is that okay?"

"Uh…I think aura readings are supposed to be done on my break," the barista stammered. "And there's a line…"

"Don't worry," Shawn drawled, draping his arm around Lassiter's shoulder. "We'll be quick. He won't get anything, anyway. His psychic mojo is all out of whack today."

"Psychic mojo?" the barista blinked.

Lassiter shrugged Shawn's grip off his shoulder, raising both hands to his temple in a mocking impressing of Shawn's psychic pose. "The hell it is," he growled. "Wait…I think I'm getting something…of course, I won't just come right out and say what I'm thinking, because it's more important that I be the center of attention than form a coherent thought or actually be helpful."

He closed his eyes dramatically, attaching his palm to the barista's forehead. "This doesn't actually do anything…" he whispered. "I just think it looks cool and you're paying attention to me now, so I'm just going to annoying the hell out of you until you can't take it anymore and threaten to kill me."

"Let go!" the barista exclaimed, knocking his hand away.

Shawn just laughed. "Dude…that's not psychic-y at all!"

Lassiter opened one eye, returning Shawn's grin with one of his own. "Really?" he challenged, his eyes flashing. He turned back to the barista. "You were late to work this morning. In fact, you weren't supposed to work at all…they called you in on your day off."

She gasped, looking surprised. "You're right! How did you know?"  
Shawn blinked, barely managing to contain his surprise.

Now it was Lassiter's turn to smirk.

"My damn psychic mojo is fine."


	6. Chapter 6

Shawn's jaw hung open just for a moment as he stared at the detective with a look of stunned bewilderment, but he quickly recovered from his shock.

Lassiter smirked.

Spencer wasn't the only one with a psychic mojo, after all.

Before Shawn could say anything, however, the coffee shop door opened again and Juliet walked in, her eyes scanning the room until they rested on her partner.

"Oh, crap," Lassiter groaned, rolling his eyes as he slunk as low as he could, just hoping Juliet wouldn't see them. "Of all the damn coffee shops in the all the world..."

But it was too late.

She had spotted them.

"Carlton!" she called, waving as she jogged across the room, weaving in and out of the crowd of increasingly aggravated customers waiting for their caffeine fix.

"Yes?" Shawn called back to her before Lassiter could open his mouth.

She ignored him, however, stopping dead in her tracks a few feet away from them, her eyes growing wide as she took in the bright shirt Lassiter was wearing.

"What are you _wearing?_" she snorted at her partner, caught somewhere between laughter and horror.

Lassiter straightened his ridiculous shirt defensively. "A shirt," he growled, glaring at her.

She cocked her head to the side curiously, her brow furrowed in confusion. "But that doesn't look like your shirt. It looks like--"

"What are you doing here?" Lassiter cut-in quickly, glancing at Nancy.

Juliet held up her phone. "I got a text saying we had a case and to meet you here."

Lassiter glared at Shawn, who just grinned innocently. Juliet's eyes quickly darted between the two of them, appraising Shawn's neatly-pressed suit. She raised an eyebrow questioningly at him, immediately knowing something was very wrong with this picture. Finally, she glanced at Nancy.

"I'm Nancy Jayne," Nancy offered with a smile, stepping forward and extending her hand. "I'm doing a story on the SBPD, and Detective Lassiter is letting me ride along with him today."

"Oh," Juliet nodded slowly, still looking somewhat bewildered. "I'm Detective O'Hara. I'm Carlton's partner."

"Oh!" Nancy's face brightened. "Then I'm glad you're here! Maybe you could answer some questions for me."

"Uh...sure," Juliet agreed slowly, still looking at Shawn for help, trying to figure out what was going on.

Shawn just shrugged, as if nothing at all was amiss. "Do you like the suit?" he asked her, grinning slyly. "I think it makes me look heroic...like a real-life gruff Irish cop."

Nancy smiled at Juliet, apparently not hearing Shawn's quip. "I still don't quite have enough for an article, Detective O'Hara. Do you mind if we have a seat?" she asked, gesturing at one of the tables in the corner of the coffee shop.

Juliet shrugged. "I guess I have a few minutes...it looks like there's no case, after all."

She followed Nancy to the table. Shawn started after them, but Lassiter pulled him back by the collar.

"You called O'Hara?" he growled, his fingers tightening around the fabric.

"I didn't call her," Shawn corrected him, raising a single finger in the air. "I texted her. Totally different."

"What the hell is the _matter_ with you?"

"You know, I get asked that more often than you might think."

Lassiter's grip tightened even more, his knuckles turning white as he got dangerously close to strangling the cheeky fake head detective.

"Watch the suit," Shawn warned him, wriggling out of his grasp. "It's yours."

Lassiter's scowl deepened as he finally let go, not wanting to get bloodstains all over his own suit. "Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you when that reporter leaves?" he growled, his eyes narrowing dangerously at the psychic.

"Uh...yeah," Shawn snorted. "Why do you think I called for back-up? You can't kill me with Jules around."

"Wanna bet?" Lassiter muttered, following as Shawn pushed past him and made his way to the table.

"So...how long have the two of you been partners?" Nancy was asking Juliet as the two of them approached.

"A few years," Juliet replied, looking up as Shawn slid into the chair next to her.

"Yeah," he agreed with a playful grin. "O'Hara here's the best darn partner on the force. And you should see her wield those handcuffs..."

He draped his arm around her shoulder, smiling coyly as he winked at her. Juliet stared at him for a moment, once again sizing up the suit.

She looked over at Lassiter, who was scowling at them as he sat down next to Nancy.

A slow grin spread across her face as the realization dawned on her. Lassiter's eyes grew wide with horror and rage as he realized that his partner was about to throw him under the bus.

"Oh, I'm not the best partner," she protested in a flat, deadpan tone. "I just do my job, Carlton. That's all."


End file.
